


target located

by SilverMoonT



Series: loving control, controlling love [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining Atsumu, Post-Time Skip, sakuatsu week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:28:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverMoonT/pseuds/SilverMoonT
Summary: Day 2 Prompt: Masks/Hide"I think we are the ones who complicate it." Atsumu says without hesitation. "Me," He clarifies. "Omi-kun. We are complicated people." He accepts, because if there is one thing he is completely sure of, it's that he and Sakusa are equally complicated.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: loving control, controlling love [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693105
Comments: 10
Kudos: 104
Collections: SakuAtsu Week 2020





	target located

**Author's Note:**

> Happy sakuatsu week❤️

Atsumu frees his face from the masquerade mask he has been wearing all night since he entered the building and the first camera flashes started, his smile always present, always charming, a disguise itself. The music, the familiar faces, the glasses filled with champagne and the conversations about the sport that unites all the people present that night, cease to be part of the bubble around him to be outside of it. With details as silver and gold as the flowers that make up the pattern of the black suit he is wearing, the mask that he now holds in his hand instead of hiding his gaze, shines with the new play of lights.

It's pathetic. It’s ironic. The situation or him? He doesn’t know how to answer. Maybe both.

Probably both.

He rests his arms on the railing in front of him, just leaning over and crossing one foot in front of the other to admire the view in front of him, finally being able to look around with no gold and silver glitters interrupting his sight, he has to admit that sometimes even bothering his eyes. Contact lenses and glitter is not a good combination. Him and glitters? Of course. A short sigh caresses his lips, he is no longer able to remember how long he has been holding it, and he realizes that if years ago someone had told him that his twenty-three-year-old self seems to be someone completely different because he is not inside, probably dancing with Hinata, who seems to have learned experience in dancing since his days back in Brazil, only to manage to hold a satisfied smile on his face when Kageyama frowns, he wouldn't believe it. But there he is. Sighing at a party, running away from it.

He lowers his head and giggles, exhausted with himself, with the party, with the night.

He knows the reason behind his sigh, as he knows that he's totally, completely, extremely ruined. He has been aware of the same thing a long time ago.

"Should I stay calm if instead of looking over the rail, you choose to laugh?"

Atsumu's body is shaken by a slight fright once he recognizes that voice that he hadn't expected to hear after thinking he was alone. "I'm not drunk." Is the first thing he says in his defense, turning his head and straightening up.

He wishes he was drunk. He deserves it, it's a party. He is young, he should be drunk.

But if there is something he knows, something he is aware of, it’s that no matter how many drinks he has or the countless number of glasses in hand he could have, no type of alcoholic drink with a fruity taste will make him stop sighing, giving the impression that he’s the protagonist of a cheap romantic movie, the part of the film where everything seems confusing and the escape plan has not yet appeared. He wonders why he didn't pursue acting instead of volleyball.

What a dumb, stupid question, he thinks. It’s simple. He loves volleyball.

In front of him, sitting on the only couch available on the balcony and with his legs stretched out on the small table in front of him, Inunaki again reminds him that not matter if it’s the libero uniform that makes him stand out or the suit he has decided to wear that night, white always plays in his favor because the color is the indicated to make him look good (or like a cream pie according to Thomas).

"You should," Inunaki says, and Atsumu notices the cigarette he has apparently been holding between his fingers after taking it to the space between his lips to give it a puff. "It's a party," He adds, and Atsumu wonders if the libero of his team has the ability to read his mind the same way he reads plays of the opposing players when there’s a net in the middle.

"We're at the same party, and you don't seem to be drunk."

Atsumu finally moves to approach him, his masquerade mask staying next to his on the table and then taking his place next to him, his legs getting a break, resting being a sensation that he welcomes although he is used to playing endless matches and hours of practice more than he does because he wants to, and because with teammates like Hinata and Bokuto, the concept of finishing training once the needles mark the official end of it, doesn’t exist.

MSBY Black Jackals turns out to be one of the teams that have decided to be part of one of the charity events organized by the representatives of the Division 1 of men's volleyball, that night taking place the party that would collect the necessary money (just a social gathering with a solid excuse according to Meian) as well as enough photos and rumors to keep the press busy for probably two weeks, maybe longer in case something interesting happens. They are at the party, the golden details of their suits making it clear that their presence is striking both on and off the court, as well as the players of Schweiden Adlers, EJP Raijin, and Azuma Pharmacy Green Rockets. Kageyama will play overseas and that’s the real reason behind the event? Is it a fake marriage between professional player Bokuto Koutarou and the person who is always there, watching him play, Akaashi? Suna Rintarou and the owner of Onigiri Miya seem to be very close, right?

"I thought parties were your thing."

Atsumu returns to reality when Inunaki's words are accompanied by a trail of grayish smoke that leaves his lips as soon as his sentence ends.

"They are," He replies. "Sometimes they are not."

"Sometimes, sometimes," Inunaki repeats, and from the way he narrows his gaze Atsumu knows there’s some implication behind his words.

Atsumu believes the parties are fun when he’s a third year and carries the victory of nationals on his shoulders, he being the captain of the champion team giving him an extra reason to celebrate, to want to do nothing but cheer, to rejoice that his promises are fulfilled and carried out successfully, the way he wants them to. When it’s his last year of high school and he can afford to celebrate, because they just won the tournament and nothing else matters. He celebrates because it’s the last time he has played with his brother side by side and they will always remember it as a moment accompanied by medals, an award, tears and laughter, perhaps even a hug which existence both Atsumu and Osamu until that day continue to deny for the sake of their pride. And he thinks parties are not so much fun anymore when he's twenty-three years old, he's on the top of the world, because they're on the last floor of the building, with the city at his feet, making him think that he can consider himself the king of the city, of a kingdom that expects to be ruled by him, and yet he can't bring himself to decorate his face with a smile of total satisfaction.

He thinks of Osamu and their discussion about who will have a happier life, those words always appearing at the least indicated moments but strangely also when he needs them most, until Inunaki offers him his cigarette and he denies as he gets comfortable on the couch.

"That ain’t healthy," Atsumu says as if the two of them aren’t old enough to know that nicotine is not a good thing for them.

The libero of his team raises both eyebrows, not denying that he is right before again bringing the cigarette to his mouth. Atsumu has never understood the concept of the films that he has seen throughout his life where the protagonist is focused with a cigarette in hand, always present because somehow they must free themselves from their frustrations, sometimes with a glass of whiskey in the another hand too. Because if you can't keep your hands busy, your fingers tracing the skin of the person you cherish and want, then you'll occupy your hands with something else that will make you imagine the same scene, make you believe that you can drown your melancholy with dizzy memories and a headache the next day.

As a player, he must keep himself in perfect condition —although he is not—, which is why he has only allowed himself a glass of champagne since the first song played, but the truth is that he has to accept that with his graceful facial features, a cigarette between his thin pink lips, a slight trace of red wine decorating them, and his blond, almost white locks, being illuminated by the only light on the balcony, Inunaki makes him consider the aesthetic of ruining his system with smoke that at that time the libero again allows to escape, polluting the already ruined air of the environment around them.

"Love is not healthy and yet here we are."

Atsumu looks at him and Inunaki looks at him.

It’s not a coincidence. They both know it. His words aren’t random. So Atsumu decides to agree, "Yet here we are."

Internally he rolls his eyes, realizing that not even trying to get fresh air will free him that night, because the first thing that pops into his head is the possibility of asking Sakusa if he considers love as something healthy. Does Sakusa even consider love? Does he? He certainly likes volleyball as much as he does, but does he love it? He doesn’t want to reply to meaningless questions even though his brain is used to answer them non-stop, hour after hour, day after day, sometimes minute after minute. Atsumu thinks it’s annoying, the various ways Sakusa has managed to infiltrate through him because he is now using terms such as love and healthy to compose the same sentence.

It’s really, blatantly annoying.

"Don't worry." Inunaki leans down to tap the start of his cigarette with his thumb and allow the ashes to continue decorating the ashtray on the table, the traces already left being evidence of a long night with jazz music in the background as his only company, and now Atsumu. "Just sometimes," He says, again resting his back against the sofa, his cigarette still in hand after assuring him he isn’t used to it. "Otherwise Meian would be bugging me already."

Atsumu raises one of the corners of his mouth and leaves his elbow on the back of the couch, his cheek settling in the palm of his hand. He has nothing to say. A cigarette. A glass of alcoholic beverage. Extra hours of training. Washing products three times and washing hands twice. Overthinking. Feeling a little bit more. Feeling a little bit less. He believes that each person has their own way of externalizing emotions and thoughts as they can; and he wonders how much difference there’s between a cigarette between lips, and his brain, not being able to stop answering repetitive questions, since both he and Inunaki are side by side at that moment. Different processes, same result.

"I think love is healthy." He decides to say anyway.

Despite his thoughts being a mess, his heart being an even bigger one. And again, the irony of his words, the sarcasm hidden between them.

"Really?" Inunaki casts a glance at him. "How so?"

"It gives you joy, happiness, doesn't it? Chemically speaking, I mean. It’s proven."

It’s an answer based on a proven hypothesis with a correct result.

It’s at the age of twenty-three that he realizes that although he knows, or at least has an idea of, the chemical and physical reactions that the love hormone represents, he still doesn’t have a clear and solid notion of what love is. It’s pain, that’s clear to him. Tears, laughter, relief, confusion. Soreness and happiness. It’s a lot and it’s little.

It’s everything and nothing.

"Chocolate too." Inunaki tells him before taking a puff on his cigarette.

Atsumu giggles because it’s as if life had returned years ago to throw at his face that sometimes it’s not necessary to think as much or ask as many questions with as many possible answers because there’s not just one way to define what love is. "You sound like my brother," He says, because six years ago when he assured Osamu that from the way he spoke of Suna, he was obviously in love with him and he explained why, his brother simply tried to discard the idea, tried to refuse to accept, saying that food is his happiness, his joy to the point of not being able to decide his favorite food.

They are both right, he guesses, Inunaki too.

But chocolate doesn’t make you stay until three in the morning, caressing your own arm while your eyes are fixed on the ceiling, asking yourself what is right and what is wrong, if we really need love or it’s nothing but a social construction; it only gives you more energy to stay awake because of the sugar levels it contains. The taste of chocolate disappears after a while, melting on your palate, while the pleasant sensation of a kiss remains for hours, sometimes days, forcing you to bring the tips of your fingers to your mouth because you seek to be able to savor every last trace of it, closing your eyes and hoping to find the same image inside your head.

"I take it as a compliment," Inunaki assures him along with smoke meeting the air outside his body. "Do you really believe that love is healthy?" He asks, seeming to be genuinely interested. "You're literally giving someone the power to break your heart. Without warning, without regretting it. How can you call that something healthy?"

"’Cause trusting is healthy."

"Sometimes. Not always."

"What about trusting yerself?" Atsumu straightens up and Inunaki looks at him. "I trust myself." He declares with his chin up and the flowers of his black suit shining with him, his words declaring his confidence not being a total surprise. "I choose when to break my own heart. I am the one who decides to give that control. Does that mean that I love myself but at the same time I’m ready to hurt myself?"

Atsumu wants to stop hiding behind his words, to continue feeling that he is wearing a mask although at that moment a real one lays on the table next to him. He surely dares to express, to intone that he is the one who decides to give that control, when in fact, it is clear that love is beyond his capabilities, because if he has chains around his wing spiker’s necks, moving to the tune he himself chooses for them, Atsumu thinks that love has placed strings on different parts of his body to make him dance in the way that the concept prefers and decides for him. He doesn’t choose when to break his heart, he is not the one who decides to give that control, although he is the person who accepts it, who accepts that he clearly has everything but control.

If there is something he doesn’t hesitate to do, it is to accept his emotions because it means that he can try to control them. He believes that denying feelings is a waste of time, and that it’s better to know yourself than to break your head after wanting to deny reality. But it’s true, and he’s aware, because he feels, because he suffers, that accepting is not the same as healing.

Inunaki finally changes his position after stopping to keep his legs stretched so that he can cross them and sit facing Atsumu, apparently his company being more interesting than just background music and the view of the night in front of them. "Do you trust yourself?" He asks, the cigarette in his hands pointing at him, "Lucky you."

"Ya don’t?" Atsumu asks as if trust is a term that everyone he knows is associated with. "It’s not being lucky, I created my own confidence." He assures him.

"What about the people around you? Didn’t they create your confidence as well?"

Atsumu opens his mouth to reply, but instead of words being spoken, memories of his time in Inarizaki abound in his mind. If there is any time he must admit he misses, it's his three years of high school. All his teammates taught him something in some way or another, as well as people from other teams, Hinata and Kageyama being the proof of the same. He wants to laugh because he thinks of Inarizaki’s banner, now understanding why Kita didn’t totally agree with it, since although there are times when it’s preferable to get rid of all the memories for them to stop forming heavy chains around his ankles and his wrists, other times it’s good to allow himself to feel nostalgic by remembering, thinking about years he can no longer change.

"They did." He accepts.

Atsumu never understands why journalists decide to accompany his name with adjectives that transform his confidence into something else, in a bad concept that he is supposed to take as offensive but that in reality he only wipes off his shoulder because he has already had his teenage years to hear again and again how much of an asshole he is. It’s not difficult, he believes. If he gives all of himself, it is only fair that the other person gives all of themselves too. Hinata and Bokuto trust themselves, Sakusa too. But he is the only one who doesn’t hesitate to express it out loud, he has to accept that sometimes with a too irritating smile on his face, making him the only member of the team to be called an egomaniac, too much for himself, narcissistic.

He wonders if he really has trust issues or not, and if they are the ones that make him be the way he is that night, talking to one of his teammates who turns out not to be Sakusa, the person with whom he wishes he could be talking, probably actually just enjoying his company because there comes a time at night when Sakusa gets tired of people and doesn't want to talk, he opts for silence because he likes to rest from conversations. And Atsumu never has a problem assuring him that as much as he has fun joking around with Hinata and Bokuto, he can also provide a relaxing company.

He thinks, if he hasn't yet given all of himself because he doesn't know if Sakusa will.

"So if you trust yourself, why are you here instead of talking to Sakusa?" Atsumu stares at him, wanting to be surprised at the mention of his teammate’s name but not really having the ability to feign surprise or offense because they both apparently know, or have an idea, why he is there instead of inside the party, or at least part of the reason why Inunaki has just said that question out loud. "Don't you trust him?"

"I trust him." He answers more quickly than he would like. "I don't trust myself when I'm with him."

"What happened with trusting yourself?"

Atsumu wrinkles his nose, confusion mixing with way too many thoughts once again. "Some distrust is fine, dontcha think? Trust yerself and you will end up being called stupid, narcissistic. What that journalist called me, remember? That time."

"A cretin." Inunaki doesn’t hesitate to remind him, cigarette joining his smile.

"A cretin!" Atsumu exclaims and Inunaki laughs. "Trust a little and it’s yer fault because yer not made for this world, trust a lot and it’s your fault because people don’t trust your trust."

Atsumu knows that he has no choice but to trust himself and what he does. The sets that he offers to the wing spikers and blockers of his team, the power behind his services when the rhythm of the game only depends on you, your jump and the way you hit the ball to try to confuse the people on the other side of the net with just one movement that can be planned in eight seconds or an instant. He can’t be part of the six chosen players and not trust himself.

"Confess what you feel, Atsumu, don't be like me."

"Because I wanna be blond?"

Inunaki shakes his head as he tries not to laugh. "Do you want to be a libero too?"

"I'm already like ya," Atsumu assures him.

They don’t need words to be spoken out loud for both to be aware that they are in the same situation. Physically because they are side by side, away from the rest of the people at the party thanks to the tinted glass windows behind them that gives them some kind of privacy, and emotionally because they know that love is not just chocolates inside a pink box or a bouquet of flowers along with a balloon of the same color and red letters. It’s true that perhaps they differ in thinking about whether love is healthy or not, but they agree that love can be as relaxing as painful.

"But you can stop."

Atsumu forms a line with his lips as he wonders if Inunaki is right or not.

It’s true that if he really sets his mind to it, he can leave aside the emotions that irritate him at night when he can’t fall asleep because he is aware that only two doors away and a few steps down the hall, is the person that causes his thoughts to be so altered, feelings that also accompany him during the day when they both get up at the same time because perhaps his hair is dyed blond that points in all directions while Sakusa's is made up of natural black curls, but both continue needing the same amount of time to get the style they want. He pronounces the word sorry when their bodies are about to touch since what he least needs is to start the day with Sakusa being grumpy just because he is asleep and doesn’t notice what path his feet mark, although Sakusa always stares at him, probably just because it’s him and not for something special.

He thinks that if he really wants to, he could put those feelings aside. It would only be enough to move his alarm five minutes to avoid bumping into him. It would be enough to delay his awakening so that his path doesn’t cross Sakusa’s, but he doesn’t want to. He always sets the alarm at the same time because watching Sakusa fix his black curls and running cream over his facial features while he pretends to laugh and Sakusa squints at him, it's the kind of morning routine that pleases him. Maybe it's his fault for getting used to it quickly, or maybe he thought it wouldn't affect him too much, but the reality is that it only takes a few minutes, a simple gesture or a glance for a smile to appear on his face.

He doesn’t stop himself because perhaps suffering is what he needs to feel. Always looking but never touching, observing, capturing any detail with his eyes to keep them in the most remote corner of his mind where facts like how Sakusa prepares his juice with two oranges and not three because although he doesn’t say it out loud, he is always careful as to leave one for Bokuto, or how he tends to buy cucumber-scented hand sanitizer because he's already fed up with the common one everyone buys, are details that remain intact in his mind. He’s always close, but not too close. And far, but not too far.

"What’s up with ya and Thomas-san?" He chooses to ask the libero.

He has moved away from the party because sometimes capturing so many details hurts and it becomes an extreme sport, something more difficult and complex than volleyball. Sakusa looks great that night, he always looks great, he knows, everyone knows it because no one is exempt from the way his black curls gracefully fall to contrast with the paleness of his skin but to combine with the darkness of his pupils, also hidden underneath of a masquerade mask similar to his. That night he chose not to wear a facemask because he would seem like the phantom of the opera (according to Bokuto), and for the same reason Atsumu has decided to leave because he had the opportunity to glimpse Sakusa's lips, either to see the irritating smile on his face when he expresses a comment against him or the small pout he makes with them when he is upset; it’s always too much. It’s something that he can’t miss, one of his most treasured and reviewed details by his mind when he can’t sleep and he doesn’t know what to, or who else to think about to distract himself.

It’s true that love is giving control as it’s also trying not to lose it completely.

"Hell if I know," Inunaki replies, seeming to be really upset that he can't provide a solid and coherent answer, and takes one last puff at what remains of his cigarette, to then rest its tip against the ashtray and abandon it. "We're supposed to be an example for you, you know," He says, blowing up the smoke that had barely traveled through his throat, indicating that he really wants to be able to answer. "Represent the future that awaits you or some poetic and inspiring shit like that. We are older. You shouldn't be here talking to me. I, shouldn’t be here."

"But here I am. And yer here."

The reality is that, and for the moment they are choosing not to change it. It’s true that either of them can get up and change the situation with just a few words or a movement, a confession or at least an attempt at it, but if the both of them are still sitting, talking instead of doing something else with what chases them regardless of whether they are sleeping or daydreaming, it’s because if there is something that always accompanies control, it’s fear.

"It's not easy," Atsumu adds, lowering his gaze to the gold glitter of his black suit to distract himself with something. "Love. Maybe it’s healthy but it ain’t easy. Also, isn’t it said that young love is easier?" He asks, looking up again.

Inunaki smiles even if he narrows his gaze. "Are you calling me old?"

Atsumu copies his expression. "You implicated it."

They both let out the same type of giggle even if three years of age is the difference between them. "Young. Old." Inunaki lets out a sigh, though not a frustrated one. "Love is never easy."

"I think we are the ones who complicate it." Atsumu says without hesitation. "Me," He clarifies. "Omi-kun. We are complicated people." He accepts, because if there is one thing he is completely sure of, it's that he and Sakusa are equally complicated.

"At least that doesn't sound boring."

"But what's wrong with wanting somethin’ boring?"

"Nothing, but would you trade Sakusa for someone boring?"

Atsumu shakes his head.

When he attended the All-Japan Youth training camp, he didn’t think that years later he would be the teammate of one of them, or perhaps yes, but he never expected to fall in love with one of them, much less with the one that with his mouth behind his facemask and his hands inside his jacket pockets, assured all of them that he was more than willing to burn an entire building just for the existence of a cockroach.

Sakusa is complicated. He can't get too close and he seems to be in a bad mood all the time, Atsumu believes that he will still have wrinkles even if he uses facial creams because he is always frowning and even more when it comes to him. Usually a small pout decorates his expression, and the black of his gaze can be withering. But that Sakusa turns out to be the same Sakusa who doesn't hesitate to hide his laugh behind his hand when Hinata and Bokuto do something stupid, who doesn't doubt to hold a smirk as rare as intriguing when he is the player who gets the most points for the team with his services, and who sometimes is so blunt and honest that ends up being offensively funny.

It’s true that staying up late, wondering at what point he fell into a cycle of hope and despair, sometimes staring at himself in the mirror of the bathroom because he doesn’t understand where the limits of his confidence begin and end, and because he really doesn’t even have an idea of what love can be, can represent for him; other times playing with the sleeves of his hoodie when he doesn’t know what else to do to try to free himself from the nerves that eat him up, it doesn’t sound like the best of plans because being used to hiding what he feels doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt, that he doesn’t suffer, he doesn’t sigh. He can only wonder why he agrees to go through all those emotions sometimes with just a few minutes apart, why he allows his feelings to fight each other when he has expressed so surely only minutes ago that he chooses when and who breaks his heart.

Perhaps he himself is allowing it by loving Sakusa the way he does.

Being confused bothers him but he congratulates himself for at least accepting that he's attracted to Sakusa and the two perfectly aligned moles on his forehead, for his obsession with keeping everything clean and flawless, with his sense of humor hidden behind harsh words and sometimes a personality as bitter as the expression that accompanies his sentences. He can’t control what he feels and neither does he want to because he finds it interesting to choose that option. Whether it's his fault or not being in pain, he really doesn’t want to know. Probably his fault, but also Sakusa's for making him think he is the exception to his rules after walking next to him, making sure their shoulders don't touch, when the whole team goes out to dinner, after giving him his outlandish smirk when scoring service points turns into a personal competition, and after he chooses to approach him when Hinata and Bokuto manage to finish with his patience with the help of their screaming and energetic personalities.

"I'll go back inside." Atsumu decides.

If he agrees to give control, to lend some of his confidence while still hiding himself behind an invisible mask, he wants it to be worth it.

"Go get your Prince Charming."

"I am Prince Charming!"

Inunaki laughs and gives him a smile, managing to convince Atsumu that just like his self from the past never expected to fall in love with someone who was in his same training when they were teenagers, neither did he expect to be part of a team (again) with people with whom he could chat about his (failed) love life in the middle of a party. He had come to think that Inarizaki would be his end even if he, ironically, had invitations and thus many open doors to join professional teams through offers. He smiles the same way for the same reason and gets up to then pretend he forgets his mask and goes back to the party.

Tired of the glitter, he thinks he has a pretty face as to have to hide it behind a white accessory with gold and silver details. He is not surprised when as soon as he allows the piano and saxophone melody to flood his eardrums again, Adriah's voice asking him if Inunaki is okay, accompanies it. He chooses to answer him to find two glasses of whiskey before going out to the balcony, and while he’s not surprised when Adriah listens to him, he is surprised when seconds later, his own hands remain up, his palms open but not resting on the chest that he is about to touch because the space is little and somehow Sakusa finds his way to him.

He stays still, always afraid to make a mistake but never allowing fear to take over him completely, because he knows Sakusa is aware that he always tries his best as to not break the limits between them, even if it requires him to make his best effort. He's used to it. He likes Sakusa, he respects him.

Just like him, he has also left his masquerade mask aside, and he is sure that if he asks, Sakusa will only answer that it’s because he thinks it’s a silly accessory that also bothers his face. In any case, Atsumu doesn’t complain, since once more it allows him to have the opportunity to rest his eyes on his lips. So many times he has wondered what it would be like, what it would feel, to join his lips to his, and so many times he lets out a sigh for the same reason. Sometimes surrendered, sometimes without realizing that he is smiling.

"You've been smoking."

Atsumu blinks and his eyes meet black.

"I don't smoke, Omi-omi," He assures him, barely raising his voice because while it's not an electronic party with people shouting the lyrics of the songs at the volume that their throats and lungs allow, the place is still full enough for Sakusa to be serious and his shoulders to be accompanied with a slight tension. "I was with Inunaki-san."

Sakusa stares at him and Atsumu tries his best to keep holding his hands where they are, his fingers barely curled between their chests, not wanting —wanting— to rest them on Sakusa's black shirt that turns out to be the same color as the details of his white suit because he is already satisfied with that closeness, their faces close as well as their bodies, Sakusa not showing disgust for the same reason. Sometimes, he believes, that he is certainly the exception.

"If someone smokes and you are around, it’s also bad for you."

"You worry about me?" Atsumu asks him with one of the corners of his mouth up on purpose, and he congratulates himself because as well as the rest of the world calls them the generation of monsters, he believes that they represent the concept not only on the court, but also outside of it; since at that precise moment he thinks he is the possessor of enough courage to ask that question out loud and therefore awaken the monster that Sakusa is, because he narrows his gaze and doesn’t stop watching him, at no time giving him a no for an answer. If he is considered a monster for making unexpected plays, asking that sudden question also counts, right?

"I want to get out of here." Sakusa says instead, his eyes never leaving him.

"Can I go with ya?"

"Yes."

Atsumu opens his mouth more than ready to complain, to assure him that he is the embodiment of a great company and that it’s rude as his teammate to leave him at that party even if the rest of the team is also there, so he remains with his mouth open when his brain and his ears register that Sakusa has said yes, that he can go with him, that once again he accepts him at his side. "Really?"

"I will not repeat myself."

Atsumu only stops looking at him when he lowers his eyes to the hand that —of course—Sakusa has decided to protect with a black glove, his palm opened as an elegant and probably soft invitation because a party for him involves wearing that accessory to give an extra detail to his appearance without losing the opportunity to have one more way to stay away from people even if the place is full.

There are still many questions already answered swirling around his head, confusion decorating his thoughts. He is aware that people will continue to think that he is an asshole just because when he gives his all, he expects the rest to do the same, but with Sakusa's hand waiting for him, indicating that perhaps not everything is as he thinks and that if there is someone just as asshole as he is, it's him because in every practice Sakusa expects him to give his all so he can hit the ball the same way. Perhaps he has fallen in love with Sakusa because he not only meets his expectations, but also exceeds them.

He might think the same of Hinata. He might think the same of Bokuto.

Who knows, maybe his type is guys with black hair and obsessed with cleanliness, pessimistic attitude and dark humor.

He still doesn't know and it doesn't bother him, because the only thing he can focus on is the way Sakusa accepts his hand instead of assuring him that his offer has been a joke, because a sigh is drowned in his throat as a smile appears to illuminate his face. Sakusa tugs on him and Atsumu can only follow him, still suffering, hiding without needing a real mask, still pining, still liking him, still loving him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading❤️


End file.
